


A Very Private War

by Emma



Series: The Homecoming Universe [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Homecoming Universe, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story takes place during The-Year-That-Never-Was and it's part of the Homecoming Universe. I started posting it to LJ in August of 2008.</p><p>At the end of <em>Exit Wounds</em>, John Hart tells Jack Harkness he's going to travel the world for a while. After a couple of years he's back in England. And then, he gets trapped into a war he does not remember happening...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Hart is pulled into the past...

The man who called himself John Hart sat high above the beach, back propped against the massive sandstone walls of the castle, and watched the people below enjoy the simple pleasures of life. An elderly couple walking hand in hand, his free hand reaching to tuck an errant silver-white curl behind her ear; three boys romping in the freezing surf, stomping the wet sand and laughing to see their footprints disappear as the water seeped back in; a man walking half a dozen dogs, all of a different size and breed; a girl barely out of her teens sitting on a rock, pencil moving rapidly over the dazzling white page of a sketchpad.

 

John liked to watch humans going about the every day business of living. There had been a time when they had amused or irritated him, and he had felt nothing for them except derision and contempt. Now, after spending two years traveling around the world observing them at their best and worst, he had acquired a certain admiration for their persistence and their capacity to survive, not to mention their impulsive acts of reckless heroism. He had seen so much of it during the battle with the Daleks and their damned reality bomb. No wonder Jack had fallen in love with them in spite of all the horrors he had seen.

 

He could pass for one of them now. The obstreperous uniform was gone. In its place he wore jeans, an Arran jumper, and sensible trainers. He even wore a long coat like Jack's, but for a much more practical reason: sewn into the lining were flexible leather scabbards for his sword and knives. He had gotten the idea from a television show about immortal humans who fought each other for a prize none of them had ever seen, an idea he held in horrified fascination. He had had a tailor in Palermo make him one to specs; the old man, who made clothes for all the top Mafiosi in Sicily, had a long and successful history of keeping questions to himself.

 

So now he was John Hart, Londoner in his late thirties, supposedly living off a small inheritance that allowed him to travel in comfort if not luxury. He had even earned his keep by working as a bonded courier, something that amused him as just a year or so before he would have been the guy trying to steal whatever the courier was transporting. He hadn't completely lost his bad habits, or his talent for making enemies, but he had managed to keep them under control. He had come to understand Jack better than he had ever done, and had lost all his illusions about working himself back into Jack's good graces.

 

It was time to go home.

 

Except that there was no home to go back to. His planet had been all but destroyed in one of those stupid wars that flared from time to time in the outlying sectors of settled space. The Time Agency was gone; there was all likelihood that he had a price on his head, and there were always folks happy to try to collect. And he had made some very nasty personal enemies during his days as a freelancer. For them it would be both business and pleasure to go hunting for him.

 

Rather than make an immediate decision – procrastination being an art form he was very fond of – he made his way back to the British islands and to the small seaside village he had fallen in love with early in his travels. Bamburgh reminded him of home, with its small grouping of houses in the shadow of the enormous castle and the cold, windy beach winter-lashed by a pewter sea. He had been here for several weeks, every day postponing his decision for another twenty-four hours.

 

He was so deep into thought that he didn't notice the commotion on the beach until the screaming started. He looked up. Three metal spheres floated a few feet above the sand. They looked like miniature escape pods, with an upper, larger part supported by a lower part that was divided from the top by a circle of running lights. More lights outlined what seemed to be sections of the top part. Blades protruded from the bottom half at regular intervals, whirring so fast that they sounded like a swarm of angry wasps, blood splashing from them like little rain drops.

 

The spheres seemed to be chasing the people on the beach, almost as if they were playing a game. From time to time one would sweep in and take a slice out of someone's body. The young artist and the old couple lay either dead or dying on the sand. There were long trails of blood seeping out to sea, and the foam had turned an ugly pink.

 

John sprinted down the dune, finding rock outcroppings where he could and riding the slip where he couldn't. He unsheathed his sword as he went; it and the knives were the only weapons he had on him, and if the day had been sunny he wouldn't have had even that.

 

"Getting careless in my old age," he muttered as he hit the beach running. "It's going to get me killed one of these days."

 

Two of the spheres were chasing a dog, chopping bits and pieces out of him as he ran howling along the surf.

 

"Hey! You ugly balls of pus! Over here!"

 

The spheres seemed delighted to have a new playmate. They rose high in the air then plunged towards him, blades extended and whirling. John waited until the last minute then ducked as he swept the sword in a wide arc. Several of the blades fell to the sand. John could swear he heard a spoiled-brat whine coming from one of the spheres.

 

Suddenly he felt a familiar tug. He turned to see a Rift opening starting to form behind him. The spheres plunged through it at high speed and he was caught in the undertow. He flipped over, trying to right himself so he would come out of it on his feet.

 

He almost made it. As the Rift opening collapsed he tumbled down onto hard stone. He shoulder-rolled and ended up on his knees. The first thing he saw was the tall column of the Millennium Centre fountain. The second was that the sky was full of spheres using some sort of energy device to mow down people as they ran. There were bodies everywhere.

 

"Run! Move!"

 

The voice behind him made his pulse leap in superstitious terror. He whirled around to find himself face to face with the woman whose body he had helped put inside a drawer in the Hub's mortuary.

 

"Come on, come on!" Toshiko Sato said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along, "We have to get out of here."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets the team he will help destroy in the future...

John sheathed the sword as he ran. They kept as close as they could to the walls of the Millennium Centre, which offered damn little protection but kept them out of the spheres' direct light of sight. He followed her up Pierhead Street – and how the woman could manage to move so fast in high heels and toting a gun twice as big as her torso was a great mystery to him – and then left on Bute Place towards the parking structure that hid Torchwood's garage. Getting to the building meant sprinting across open space, but with a little luck they could make it. The spheres seemed to be concentrating on the areas around the waterfront.

 

Their luck ran out a few steps from the entrance. John heard the angry-wasp buzz before he saw the sphere. He shoved Toshiko into a shallow nook created by a floor-to-ceiling window and turned to scan the street.

 

"Hey!"

 

"Hush," he said. "They're tracking us. If we run into the building now we could lead them right to the Hub. We're going to have to make them think we were just trying to hide in the tunnel. When I say go, run past the front door. I'll try to distract them. You can double back and use the side entrance."

 

"Just who the hell are you?"

 

"Survival first, explanations later. Go!"

 

They moved simultaneously. John ran back towards the Centre, dodging behind abandoned cars, but the expected bolts of energy did not materialize. Instead the buzzing got louder and more frantic as the sphere searched. He stuck his head out warily and got a good look at it. It looked a little dinged; one of its blades was missing and another hung uselessly from its socket. Just my luck. A pus bag out for revenge.

 

The sphere stopped suddenly and whirled about, focusing on something behind it. John had a sinking feeling he knew what it would be. The staccato rap of a high-velocity rifle confirmed his suspicions. The crazy woman was standing almost out in the open, firing at the sphere. Bullets bounced off the metal, but the speed at which they were coming seemed to be keeping it off balance.

 

John knew the standoff would not last long. The thing seemed invulnerable and sooner or later either Toshiko would run out of bullets or it would figure out she couldn't really hurt him. They couldn't beat it; all he could do was figure out a way to escape. And with machinery, low tech was always a better bet.

 

He looked around for something to use. The small lorry he was hiding behind had been nearly ripped in two by a beam; several cans of paint had tumbled down onto the pavement. He grabbed one that seemed basically undamaged and popped it open. Hefting it by the wire handle he ran out into the middle of the street.

 

"Hey! Pus bag! Over here!"

 

John actually heard it giggle as it turned back towards him. At the speed the thing was moving, he would get only one chance. He waited until the sphere was nearly within touching distance, and then flung the paint directly at what seemed to be its main sensor and ran towards Toshiko. Without slowing down he grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

 

The side door of the car park was unlocked. They raced downstairs to the lowest level and up to the blank wall with its small, insignificant door hidden behind the pillar. Without saying a word, Toshiko pressed her thumb to what seemed to be a regulation lock.

 

As they stepped through, John heard the sound of guns being cocked. He had been expecting it, so he held his hands out in plain sight, fingers spread. Ianto Jones walked up behind him and searched him quickly but thoroughly.

 

"Sword, two knives. No other weapons," he announced to the room at large. "Vortex manipulator seems permanently attached."

 

"Molecular bonding," said John mildly. "And not my doing."

 

"He knows a hell of a lot about us," Toshiko said. "He came through the Rift with the Toclafane…"

 

"Toclafane!"

 

Gwen Cooper looked at him unsmilingly over the barrel of her gun. "You know what they are?"

 

"No. Toclafane is the name of a monster that grandmothers use to scare disobedient children. You would say… boogeyman?" He shook his head. "Doesn't make any sense."

 

"Who are you?" Toshiko asked.

 

"I'm a friend of Jack's," he said, mentally editing as he went. "A former colleague, you might say."

 

"From the future," Gwen said with certainty. "If you're from the future you have to know what's going on. And don't give me any of the you shouldn't know too much about the future crap. These fuckers are decimating the world and I don't give much of a damn about anything else at the moment."

 

"I don't. I don't have any memory of anything like this ever happening. Where is Jack? I can't run into him now. Believe me."

 

"Left with the Doctor a few weeks ago. Then Prime Minister Harold bloody Saxon announces first contact with an alien race. Then we get sent to the bloody Himalayas." Gwen motioned for him to move. "Inside. You seem to know a lot. Show us the way."

 

John walked down the short corridor to the cog door. "I can't open the door. The last time I visited the Hub you had upgraded to a different system."

 

Ianto blocked John's view as he opened the door and deactivated the alarms. John stepped through to find two more guns pointed at him.

 

'Dr. Harper, Mr. Williams." He raised his hands again. "You're a very cynical woman, Ms. Cooper."

 

"Hard times, Mr…"

 

"Hart. John Hart."

 

"You're sure you don't know what this is about?"

 

"Certain. I was sitting on a beach watching the day go by and three of those ridiculous things appeared and starting chopping down people. I managed to hurt a couple, though not much. They pulled me in when they opened the Rift." At their disbelieving looks, he snorted. "Look, I think I would remember Cardiff being turned to rubble by boogeymen, don't you?"

 

Toshiko came up to him holding a triangular device. 'This is an Ixelian chronodetector. May I?"

 

He nodded. She ran the device over him and waited until there was a soft pinging sound and a small screen lit up. She turned it over so he could read it.

 

"That is not possible."

 

"What is it, Tosh?" Owen asked.

 

"I thought that if Mr. Hart was from the future and didn't remember the Toclafane, there could be only one of two reasons. One, he's from a different time stream and he's just been dumped on ours by the Rift, or two, his very presence here has created a different future." She collapsed on her chair, suddenly exhausted. "I was wrong. It might be even worse."

 

"What do you mean?" asked Gwen.

 

"According to the chronodetector, Mr. Hart's molecules experienced a massive temporal disruption a little over thirty-one million seconds ago. So did everything he's wearing, including his vortex manipulator. Ianto, let me see those." She ran the chronodetector over the weapons he was holding. "These too."

 

"What does that mean?"

 

"I don't know what it means, but it suggests that at some point in the future, the whole Universe will lose about a year."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John realizes he cannot return to the future, so he joins the team...

John sprawled on the ratty old sofa, watching Torchwood Three – which now seemed to include Rhys Williams – go about its business. Gwen had insisted he stayed put, and at the moment it suited John to accommodate her. He noticed that one of the team, usually Ianto, was within shooting distance. They weren't taking any chances and he couldn't blame them.

 

He was still trying to wrap his brain around the concept of the Toclafane, or, for that matter, the alliance of a British prime minister with them. And where the hell was Jack? Whatever else he might have done, the man John had encountered in Cardiff would not have abandoned his team to face this alone.

 

"Where did you get a byeolungeom?"

 

"Trust you to know it's not a katana." John smiled up at Ianto. "Tell you what. Trade you the story for a cup of your coffee."

 

"Tosh is running some tests on it. She thinks there's something odd about it."

 

"She's right. Coffee?"

 

Ianto stared at him for a several seconds before walking off towards the kitchen. John gave a sigh of relief. Of all the team, Ianto was the most dangerous to him. Jack's Eye-Candy was probably empathic, maybe even telepathic under some conditions. John would prefer that he didn't find out too much.

 

As Ianto moved away, Owen Harper moved in. The doctor didn't bother with conversation; he just leaned against a column, gun held loosely but very competently. John felt a sudden, foolish urge to apologize and squelched it ruthlessly. In the future this man would die – did die – because of John's stupid obsession with Jack Harkness. Nothing John could say would change it, and he was damned if he did any more harm just so he maybe could find some sort of absolution. Instead he asked a question.

 

"Why didn't you go to the Himalayas?"

 

"Too damn cold," Owen snapped, then relented. "There are still some UNIT folk who remember their mandate. One of them's an old London acquaintance of Ianto's. He warned us Saxon wanted us out of the way, preferably permanently."

 

"You're the only effective opposition," John said. "He has UNIT under his thumb and the Toclafane as his enforcers. Torchwood is the only thing he can't control."

 

"There are only four of us, for God's sake! Five, now that Rhys's been dragged into it. What can we do?"

 

"Be a thorn on his side. Frustrate his plans whenever you can. Hold the line. Organize the resistance. Serve as an example. Keep his people distracted and out of balance." John shrugged. "There's a type of personality who cannot stand that."

 

"Sounds like you've had some experience in these matters." Ianto put a tray loaded with coffee cups and biscuits on the table in front of him. "Perhaps you can give us some tips before you leave."

 

Everyone had drifted closer, drawn by the scent of coffee. Ianto distributed cups and passed biscuits around. John was thankful for the interruption. In spite of what Toshiko had said, he wasn't sure that his presence would not make things worse. His first instinct was to cut and run, but he couldn't shake the niggling feeling that he was missing something.

 

"You said you had hurt the Toclafane," Gwen said. "How?"

 

"My sword can cut through their blades. That's very little use against something armed with energy beams and invulnerable to high-velocity ammo."

 

"Your sword is very unusual," Toshiko said. She had sat down her to him on the sofa and was nibbling thoughtfully on a chocolate biscuit. "Korean antique of the highest quality. The blade, though, is a composite metal I can't identify."

 

"I'm not surprised. It's not common in this world and I did the work myself." He bit into one of the biscuits and got a mouthful of soft gooey chocolate. "Ummm. Delicious."

 

"You're an alien?" Owen asked, not sounding very surprised.

 

"Human as they come in the fifty-first century. Say human with modifications." He smiled brilliantly as the explanation dawned on him. "Like Jack."

 

"Jack's… not an American." Rhys laughed then rested his head in his hands. "That's the only thing that makes sense out of all of this."

 

"Why are you telling us now?" Gwen asked.

 

"Because," Ianto said blandly, "Mr. Hart has just realized that none of us will remember him in the future, so it doesn't matter in the long term."

 

"What if his telling us changes the future?"

 

"It can't," Ianto answered before John could say anything. "For him it's already happened."

 

"You know, Eye-Candy, you would have made one hell of a Time Agent. He's right," John said, turning to Gwen. "There's a certain rhythm to temporal incidents, a kind of …scent. You learn to recognize it in my business. Whatever is happening, we are only peripherally involved. Doesn't mean we don't have a role to play."

 

"We?" Ianto said.

 

John shrugged. "It's not like I have anything more pressing. Besides, there's one thing that has to be done no matter what."

 

"Close the Rift," Toshiko sat up, looking as she had just discovered a spider egg in her chocolate. "Secure it so the Toclafane can't slip through it again. In the future you live in, there are no Toclafane. There isn't even a memory of them. If they manage to find a way through…"

 

"Whatever happened to take them out of the time line will have been worthless." John finished the thought. "Are you sure it was an accident?"

 

"Yes. Opening the Rift on purpose leaves a totally different energy signature." Unaccountably, she blushed. "I've had reason to check that lately."

 

John tapped his manipulator. "Then we'll need to make certain it can't be opened from this side even with this."

 

"That means you will be trapped here for the duration of," she tried to find the proper word and failed, "whatever this is."

 

"Like I said, it's not like I have anything more pressing to do. In fact, I think this might be the most pressing thing I have ever had to do."

 

"We don't need to shut it down," Toshiko said, eyes unfocusing slightly. "Redirecting it would be a little better actually. That way the change couldn't be detected."

 

"Toshiko Sato, I could kiss you!" John punched the air with one fist. "I don't suppose we have a randomiser around here, do we?"

 

"We don't," said Ianto. "But I know of someone who might."

 

"Who?"

 

"Henry Parker. He's a collector of Rift artifacts, and he's been known to get his hands on some very interesting things. I think I know where to find him."

 

"Is he hiding?"

 

"Possession of alien artifacts has been made a capital offense," Gwen said. "All the collectors have gone underground."

 

"All right. How do we move around out there? They are going to be looking for you."

 

"Not yet. Tosh and Ianto played fool-the-computer." Gwen leaned against Rhys's shoulder and gave John a mischievous grin. "Torchwood Three boarded a plane at Heathrow and a military transport in Frankfurt. We were checked in at Kathmandu airport and left for Mayumla Phedi with a native guide as instructed in two fully loaded Land Cruisers. One of the Cruisers was reported overturned in a ravine. We haven't been seen since. Presumed dead."

 

"And before you ask," Tosh said testily, "a military plane on its way back from that area of the world crashed on final approach at a Frankfurt military airport. There were no survivors. We just used it for our own purposes."

 

"Damn, you people are good. All right, then. Torchwood is gone. Does anybody at all know you're in Cardiff?"

 

"A policeman friend. He can be trusted."

 

"Fine. First we redirect the Rift. Then we start figuring out ways to put a very large dent in our Overlord's ego."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war becomes personal for John as he vows to avenge an old man...

The Butetown shipyard had once been a flourishing concern. Now the elegant Victorian building stood guard over rusting dry-docks and crumbling concrete piers. The roofs were mostly missing, and the grand arched windows were empty holes that let in rain and salt air. Everything stank of decay.

 

John eyed the place with distaste. "You bring me to the nicest places, Eye-Candy."

 

"Next time I'll make sure we're only interested in fugitives who reside in five-star hotels." Ianto led the way across what had been a grand lobby, down a long corridor filled with debris, and up a flight of stairs. "Parker is not your garden-variety alien nut. He's a millionaire a dozen times over, and he didn't inherit a penny. Don't underestimate him."

 

"Got cured of that particular vice while still in nappies. So, if Mr. Parker is so rich, how did he end up in this dump?"

 

"Old weevil hideout. They abandoned it a few years ago, nobody knows why. Lots of tunnels and hiding places. There's no paper trail to Parker anywhere, but Jack found out and kept an eye on it."

 

He pushed open a door that led to a small office. It looked as dilapidated as the rest of the place, but there were signs of habitation if you knew where to look. Ianto came to a full stop in the middle of the room.

 

"What now?" John asked.

 

"Now we wait."

 

It didn't take long. A small section of wall slid aside noiselessly and an old man stepped through.

 

"Mr. Jones. I thought Torchwood was in the Himalayas."

 

"Wrong season for tourism."

 

"I'll say. And now you are looking for me? I've never given Torchwood any trouble." His eyes slid to John. "And you have a new member. Should I stop trusting Torchwood, Mr. Jones?"

 

"I hope not, sir. This is John Hart, he's a friend of Captain Harkness. We're trying to locate a piece of equipment. It's rather urgent."

 

"It's called a randomiser," John pushed a few buttons in his wrist strap. "It looks like this."

 

A hologram appeared in the air above John's wrist. It showed a rectangular box with a row of toggles on the top and three wires protruding from one side.

 

"You're not from around here, are you?" Mr. Parker asked whimsically. "Captain Harkness has a similar one. I've often wondered… Well, never mind. What do you need this randomiser for?"

 

"To stop the Toclafane from using the Rift. We need to contain them in this time and place, Mr. Parker."

 

The old man stared into John's eyes for a long time, then sighed. "Come with me."

 

They followed him and found themselves inside a small elevator. As the wall slid shut, it started to descend rapidly. After a brief period, it came to a stop and another section of wall slid open on a huge room filled with museum quality cabinets and shelves. At one end of the room was an alcove holding a large desk and two chairs; in the other, a portion of the room had been partitioned into a small but efficient bed sit.

 

"You have been planning for a while," Ianto remarked.

 

"After Canary Wharf… don't look so surprised, Mr. Jones. There are a few of us who know what really happened, as we know about all the Christmas time incidents in London. As I said, I started to build right after Canary Wharf. I thought it was important to protect these things." He gave a bitter laugh. "I've learned a great deal about what's important in the last few months."

 

He walked to one of the shelves, picked up an object, and brought it to the two men. "I believe this is what you're looking for. Look around, see if there's anything else you might need. God, I have been such a…"

 

He stopped as John made as shushing gesture. In the sudden silence, they would hear it: footsteps and a faint metal whine coming from above them.

 

"They're here." Parker said. "I knew sooner or later they would find me. There's a way out in the alcove, an old weevil tunnel that leads down to the river."

 

He ran to the desk and felt under the edge. They heard a click, and the floor under the desk rotated out of the way to reveal a trapdoor. "Go. If there's anything that can be done to stop them, you are the ones to do it."

 

"You're not coming with us?"

 

"I'm dying, Mr. Jones. A life as a fugitive is beyond me. If I stay behind I might be able to distract them until you reach safety." Parker clenched his fists. "I hate them. Ever since I was a child I've wanted to meet extraterrestrials, and when I finally get my close encounter, they are metal thugs with nothing but bloodlust in them. I want them gone!"

 

John and Ianto exchanged a look, then moved towards the trapdoor. As he passed one of the cabinets, John realized it held a small collection of swords.

 

"Mr. Parker, may I take these?"

 

"They are not of extraterrestrial origin."

 

"But they came through the Rift?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Then I can use them."

 

"By all means take them." Parker looked up at the ceiling. The noises clearly were getting closer. "You better go now."

 

Into jumped down into the tunnel. John passed him the swords, then turned to Parker and stuck out his hand. "Thank you. You should know, not all of us are thugs."

 

Parker's face lit up. "Harkness too?"

 

John jumped down. "Jack is probably one of the best of us."

 

He took some of the swords from Ianto, who was trying to juggle them and a small torch. As the trapdoor swung shut over their heads, they ran down the tunnel, Ianto's torch illuminating a small strip of ground in front of them. The tunnel was narrow, but they could run upright – just barely, in Ianto's case – and it took many twists and turns. John caught the spoor of a hunting creature, but it was old. Up ahead he could smell water.

 

"Damn." Ianto cursed mildly as he rapped his shin with one of the swords. "Why the hell are we taking these things?"

 

"I can use the metal from my knives to strengthen their blades the same way I did mine. We will have a few more weapons against the Toclafane."

 

They turned a corner and found that the tunnel broadened into a small cave that opened onto the river bank. A rowboat was moored behind some bushes that would keep it hidden from river traffic and nosy folk on other bank. They clambered into it and started to move as quickly and quietly as possible.

 

From behind them came the sound of sirens and gunfire. Three large UNIT helicopters hovered over the shipyard with their powerful spotlights sweeping the grounds in wide arcs. One of them began to move towards the river in a search pattern.

 

"They must have found the car," Ianto whispered. "Stolen from their own headquarters just yesterday, so no joy there, but they must know we are around."

 

"Row faster."

 

They felt the rumble and saw the river surface vibrate just a few seconds before they heard the explosion. They looked back in time to see the main building implode in a huge cloud of smoke and ashes that rose into the air, blinding the helicopters above. A few more seconds, and the dry-docks and their rusted steel cradles exploded outwards, sending shrapnel flying. One of the beams struck a helicopter's rotor, bringing it down on top of the still-collapsing building and several troop carriers that had been stationed near the front doors.

 

"Parker must have mined the whole place."

 

"All he ever wanted was to meet some aliens." John saluted towards the conflagration. "Come on, Ianto. Let's get this stuff to the Hub. If I wasn't in this fight before, I am now. These bastards owe me for Henry Parker and I'm going to collect in full."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John fights a war and falls in love...

Once they had the randomiser redirecting the Rift was a matter of modifying the chronodetector and then linking both of them to Toshiko's Rift machine. John fed the coordinates of every uninhabited-due-to-lousy-conditions-for-survival solar system, planet and asteroid belt in his vortex manipulator's star charts into the Rift monitoring subroutines of the Hub's computer. When an opening was detected by the sensors, the randomiser reached into the coordinate list and fed a location to the chronodetector which would use the Rift machine to realign the opening to the new location. As Toshiko pointed out to the others, the contraption was basically a dumbed-down version of John's wrist-strap.

 

One night John found Gwen standing in front of the new equipment.

 

"What's wrong, tough lady?"

 

"Do you ever think of all the innocents who'll walk through an opening?"

 

"Yes. As much as I think about a future overrun by Toclafane. It's a lousy choice but it's the only one we have."

 

"You sound like Jack."

 

"Thank you." He took her hand in both of his. "Gwen, you are going to be one hell of a commander one day, but you have to lose the delusion that you are going to be able to save all the innocents. That's the thing about war. The innocents always pay the price."

 

She nodded and walked away, leaving him alone with his dark thoughts.

 

While he reforged the swords, John started everyone on fencing lessons. They were all well trained in down-and-dirty street fighting – something John expected of people under Jack's command – except for Rhys, who made up for his lack of formal training with a hard pair of fists. John had worried a little about Rhys, the amateur among professionals, but his fears dissipated after a couple of training sessions. Rhys was a natural with a cutting blade. John trained him with an elegant Toledana from the eleventh century, and he took to it as if he had been a knight in the court of Castile and Leon in a previous life. It was Rhys who counted first coup on a Toclafane who was harrying several women during one the periodic sweeps for the laborers needed in the weapons factories.

 

Gwen and Owen were competent enough, but they preferred guns, and, as Owen put it, things that go boom in the night. Gwen usually took the lead in sabotage. She was a hell of a tactician, and worked with John in identifying targets and planning the missions. The Doctor spent much less time in the field; after several of the Flat Holm staff were captured and sent to the weapons factories, Ianto had been forced to reveal Jack's secret to the team. Owen had taken over care of the patients and staff and divided his time between the hospital and the Hub's labs.

 

Ianto was as efficient at his swordsmanship as he was at everything else, but he excelled at information gathering. He used Torchwood's files to construct a network of informants, both human and alien, who harvested all sort of intelligence and funneled it back to them. His ability to pass unnoticed in a crowd made John positively green with envy; he could chat up total strangers and have them spilling out their guts without their ever noticing doing it.

 

But it was Toshiko who was a revelation to John. His memories of her were of a stunningly beautiful computer geek. That was present – what Toshiko could do with a computer was downright obscene – but there was so much more. She was a crack shot. She had medical training and assisted Owen in the lab. And with a katana in her hand she was a force of nature.

 

She had been immediately drawn to it and insisted in using it even when John told her it would be too long for her. When she found out that the blade had been made by Soshu Yukimitsu, she dug in her heels and he had to relent. She spent most of her free time practising, usually with Ianto or Rhys as opponents. She seemed leery of him, so John kept his distance, but he couldn't help following her with his eyes or keeping as close to her as he could during missions.

 

If John thought he had managed to disguise his attraction, he was disabused of the notion one day when, in a move worthy of a bad romantic comedy, he tripped over a chair while trying to walk and watch Toshiko at the same time. Ianto snagged him before he broke both his nose and his dignity in the metal stairs.

 

"You know," the Welshman said with exaggerated patience, "she's not involved with anyone and neither are you."

 

John nodded but ignored the advice. He told himself their lives were too complicated, that a relationship between them would play havoc with team dynamics, or that he had no right to be attracted to a woman for whose death he was partially responsible. It was only during sleepless nights that John acknowledged, if only to himself, that the true reason for his unlikely reticence was his conviction that if he fell in love with Toshiko – and he was quite certain he could love her deeply – he would do whatever it took to keep her alive, the future be damned.

 

It was, John thought, a hell of a time to grow a conscience.

 

Instead he threw himself into what he had come to consider his own private war. Saxon and his Toclafane allies had turned the whole planet into a weapons factory. Everything, from food production to childbirth, was geared to support their damned countdown. By common consent, the team concentrated on disrupting supply lines and freeing prisoners. Andy Davidson and Ianto's contact in UNIT keep them informed of important developments and they would choose and plan accordingly.

 

The existence of a resistance cell armed with swords that could actually hurt the Toclafane couldn't be kept a secret for long. Wild rumors circulated about them which they did their best to encourage. Andy managed to get himself assigned to the intelligence unit handling counter-resistance for the Cardiff area and used his position to redirect attention to the wildest speculations. People nicknamed their new heroes the Cleddyfwyr; nobody ever suspected that it was the old Torchwood in a new disguise, or, if they did, never shared their speculations publicly.

 

It was relentless warfare and it was useless. They all knew it. There were millions of Toclafane, and day by day the human population fell under the twin hammers of slave labor and disease. The discovery that Harold Saxon was a mad Time Lord who was keeping the Doctor and Jack Harkness prisoner seemed almost anti-climactic. It hurt unbearably at a personal level but in the larger scheme of things all that mattered was that the human race not go down without a fight.

 

So they fought on, with a price on their heads that got larger each month. Andy reported that the only reason Cardiff hadn't been blasted off the map was that Saxon – none could bring themselves to call him the Master – had been informed by his UNIT science advisors that anything happening to the city would destabilize the Rift. In a fit of pique he had ordered the construction of a massive uranium processing plant right on the bay, poisoning the water and burying the city in a permanent miasma of tainted water vapor. Food had to be smuggled in or grown in cellars. Root vegetables and mushrooms became the main source of nutrients. Scurvy, dysentery, and just plain starvation decimated the remnants of the population.

 

Owen managed to keep the team healthy with a daily cocktail of human and alien drugs he concocted in the Hub's medical lab. John and Rhys turned one of the old tunnels into a greenhouse, and managed to put some tomatoes, peppers, and berries on the table along with the potatoes and mushrooms. Still, they grew whipcord lean, nothing but muscle and sinew. They kept going on nothing but discipline and anger.

 

Most of their missions now dealt with getting food and medicine to the pockets of survivors. Ianto had located several of the old cold-war supply dumps, and they raided them for water purification tablets, vitamins, and ration packs. They had to be much more cautious now, but, to John's infinite surprise, nobody ever tried to collect the bounty on their heads.

 

"It's the bloody Welsh stubbornness," Owen explained. "Resisting the government is what they do best."

 

It was around then that they heard about Martha Jones and her search for a weapon, supposedly developed by Torchwood and UNIT, which could permanently kill a Time Lord by preventing his regeneration. The story made no sense to them.

 

"There is no such weapon," Ianto said. "There are no traces of it in any of the Archives. The Doctor worked with UNIT for a long time. Why would they want to harm him? And after Canary Wharf Jack confiscated all the archives, including all the lab records and Yvonne Hartman's secret files. There wasn't even a hint of anything like it. Jack would have moved heaven and earth to destroy it."

 

"So what is going on?" asked Rhys.

 

John, who had been slumped in his chair only half-listening to the conversation, nearly jumped out of his skin as sudden certainty flooded through him. "It's not the weapon. It's the message. Don't you see? In each place she visits she tells the story of the Doctor and tells them to think of him when the countdown reaches zero. She tells them that's the best way they can help. Whatever the doctor is planning will happen at the end of the countdown, and he needs some sort of psychic energy from the rest of us to do it."

 

"That's what we do, then," Rhys said. "We hold on until that bloody countdown. We keep as many people alive as we can. And we spread the word."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war takes its toll on the team, but the fight continues...

They lost Owen first.

 

One of the Flat Holm nurses who had been shanghaied into the weapons factories was caught stealing food from the UNIT soldiers' mess. Sentenced to be tortured to death by the Toclafane, she tried to exchange information about the facility for a quick death.

 

Owen heard the noise of the helicopters and gunboats in the distance, and realized that he wouldn't have time to evacuate the patients. He tried to get the two remaining nurses to leave, but they wouldn't, even after he told them what he and Ianto had planned as a last resort. Together, they brought all the patients to the small staff lounge and fed them an overdose of sedatives in bowls of ice cream they had been hoarding. Then the nurses calmly sat down to wait with a cup of tea and some biscuits.

 

"Good bye, Megan, Anne."

 

"Don't look so distressed, Owen." Anne, a tall, emaciated woman who looked twenty years older than she was, poured a little more tea in her cup. "We have no family left. It'll be a blessing to be with them."

 

Owen kissed their hands, which made them giggle like schoolgirls, and then walked out to the front door. Soldiers were clambering up the path, guns at the ready. Toclafane hovered above. One of them descended until it was eye-level with him.

 

"Doctor Owen Harper," The voice was that of the man who called himself the Master. "I've been wanting to meet you."

 

"Yeah? Pleasure's not mutual, pal."

 

"Careful, Doctor Harper. You don't want to make a bad impression, do you?" There was a burst of music reminiscent of a third-rate game show. "Did I forget to tell you? You are on global television!"

 

"Lucky me." Owen cocked a sardonic eyebrow. "And to what do I owe the honor?"

 

"I'm going to give you a chance, Owen Harper!" Another burst of tinny music assaulted everyone's ears, "Look at the screen."

 

One of the soldiers opened a laptop. On the screen Owen could see the Master standing in front of a bank of old-fashioned television cameras. His wife stood to one side, dressed in a black evening gown; the style left her arms bare and showed off a fresh set of bruises. Armed soldiers lined the walls. But it was the man in the background that made Owen's eyes fill with tears.

 

Jack Harkness had been crucified to a wooden x-frame. Nails had been driven through his wrists and ankles. Blood ran down his face from cuts and tears around his hairline. He was still alive; his eyes were aware and full of agony.

 

"Here's the deal, Owen Harper. You have the chance to help your friend. If you tell me where the others are, I'll release Captain Harkness, Come on, Owen!" The Master wheedled. "How can you call yourself a doctor and not take pity on his suffering? Where's your loyalty? Where's your humanity?"

 

"Jack," Owen said, ignoring the Time Lord's antics. "You know I love you, don't you?"

 

Jack's eyes flickered and he gave a faint smile and a nod. That was all the blessing Owen needed. He thumbed the detonator he carried carefully hidden in his right hand.

 

Flat Holm blew up. On television it looked as if a volcano had erupted. Flames fountained up from the center of the building. The whole hillside slid into the ocean, raining destruction on the gun boats and their crews. Screens all over the world showed the Master's capering rage for a few seconds before suddenly going black.

 

Back in the Hub, Ianto crumpled to his knees, dry-heaving, fists pounding the floor. Toshiko stood rigidly at attention, face drained of all color, her hands gripping Gwen's, who seemed to have lost the ability to breathe except in shallow, hiccupping sobs.

 

"John," Rhys said. "I need a hand."

 

John forced himself to move. The two of them managed to wrestle Ianto up. The Welshman seemed to be edging close to a catatonic fugue. His skin had turned clammy and he didn't seem to be able to control the spasms wracking his body.

 

"My fault, my fault, my fault…"

 

"Ianto. Ianto!" John shook him slightly. "Why is it your fault?"

 

"My idea. Borrowed it from Parker. Mine the place, don't let them fall into Saxon's hands. Oh God, my idea!" Ianto's eyes started to flutter. "Oh God, Jack. Jack!"

 

"Gwen! Tosh!" Rhys broke the death grip the women had on each other. "You have to hold on to Ianto. Now!"

 

He pushed all three of them down on the sofa. After making sure they were wrapped around each other, he motioned for John to follow. In the training room, they pulled all the exercise mats together to make a bed and covered it in blankets and pillows. Maneuvering the others down to the room, they stripped everyone, including themselves, down to their underclothes.

 

"Right, then," Rhys said briskly. "Ianto in the middle, Toshiko, Gwen, on either side. John, I hope you understand, but I'm keeping my wife to myself."

 

John slid under the blankets behind Toshiko, who had turned to cuddle Ianto, one leg thrown over his, her hands reaching for Rhys on the other side of Gwen. He knew he should keep his distance, but she was shivering as if she were suffering from hypothermia. He pulled himself tightly against her back and felt more than saw Gwen reach for him and twine her fingers with his.

 

They lay like that for what seemed like a long time, until the shivers stopped and their bodies became warm. Suddenly, Toshiko started giggling.

 

"You know what Owen would say right about now?"

 

"Yeah." Ianto snorted. "If you're awake in bed, why aren't you having sex?"

 

"Not to mention Jack, who would already be having sex somehow," John whispered.

 

Everyone burst into laughter. So of course they ended up telling Owen and Jack stories for hours, until they fell asleep one by one. Sleepless, John watched over them. Ianto seemed to have nightmares once or twice, but a simple touch to the forehead or cheek calmed him down. Finally, exhaustion won and John closed his eyes.

 

He woke up the next day to find Toshiko sitting next to him, wearing her most beautiful kimono, sipping steaming-hot tea from her favorite mug. She smiled at him.

 

'We decided to let you sleep in. After all, you watched over us last night." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. "Thank you."

 

He pulled her down and did a much more thorough job. "You're welcome."

 

It became their own personal morning ritual, a shared cup of tea and a few kisses. The others, pleased that they had finally found each other, made a concerted effort to be somewhere else during that time. John and Toshiko found comfort in their oddly chaste physical closeness and both were content to take it no further.

 

Then Gwen and Rhys died while ferrying supplies to a refugee camp hidden up in the Brecons. The camp was spotted by a UNIT helicopter. It opened fire while they were still unloading their stolen truck. A few seconds later, another helicopter peppered the place with incendiaries and burned it to the ground. They were killed instantly.

 

The next day one of Andy's contacts got the news to Ianto. He had managed to sneak out of the UNIT compound and had found their remains. With the help of some gypsies, he had buried them and what was left of their swords in a hilltop fort a few miles from the camp. As far as the government was concerned, the Cleddyfwyr were still at full strength.

 

That evening the three survivors slept in the training room much as they had done after Owen's death. The next morning, Ianto tried to leave John and Toshiko alone as usual, but he was stopped by two hands, one masculine and one feminine.

 

"Don't you dare," Toshiko said fiercely. "You two are all I have left."

 

She pulled them down onto the blankets. The three of them coiled together, stroking and petting whatever flesh they could reach, sharing fierce open-mouthed kisses until they were flushed and damp. The two men were content to follow Toshiko's lead, and she seemed driven to push them until they broke. She coaxed and teased and captured them with her hands and her mouth until even the slightest touch was red-hot torture on sensitized skin.

 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, they wrested control from her. Laughing at her impatience, they played with her body until she was a maddened as they were, making soft mewling sounds that only drove them on. They fitted themselves to her and she took them in fiercely, mouth and sheath, and they rocked together to orgasm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha Jones returns to Britain and the team faces the finalcountdown

Andy Davidson's luck finally ran out on a cold spring morning when the helicopter he was traveling in crashed into the ocean near the remains of Flat Holm. He and two soldiers survived the accident, but were left to fend for themselves. By the time John and Ianto reached them, the others had succumbed to hypothermia and Andy was barely hanging on. They got him to the Hub in time to save his life, but not his legs.

 

Still, as soon as he was up and about he started to take over everything that could be done sitting down. They jury-rigged ways for him to get around the Hub and he made full use of them. There was a startling change in Andy. The easy-going, friendly man Ianto remembered had been transformed into an efficient, driven fanatic. Andy hated with a passion, and a great deal of it was directed at the UNIT soldiers who worked with the Toclafane.

 

As the countdown entered its final weeks security was tightened everywhere. Sweeps were more frequent as laborers were needed in the weapon factories. The team's primary job was to keep people alive and safely hidden. Andy's extensive knowledge of UNIT tactics, and the personalities of the men and women in command positions, became the cornerstone of their planning.

 

One day, quite by accident, Andy answered a question John had been obsessing over for some time. Tosh had found out that it was Andy's birthday, and she had raided the archives for a bottle of Thyrhian brandy. After dinner, she had made a toast, thanking him for keeping the authorities away from the team.

 

"Well, Miss Tosh, I'll take your thanks for my part in it," Andy said laughing, "but you had bigger and better angels than I."

 

"I wondered about that," John said softly.

 

"What do you mean?" Toshiko asked.

 

"We were too lucky, Tosh," he said. "Saxon controls everything in this planet. Even with Andy on our side we shouldn't have survived this long."

 

"I thought it was all over after Owen," Ianto said. "There were some clear trails if you bothered to look."

 

"Maybe Saxon didn't care," Toshiko objected.

 

"Oh, he cared, "Andy said. "The crazy bastard wanted you like I want a breath of clean salt air. Cardiff was crawling with his agents, but things kept going awry. Reports misplaced, data missing, wrong information… everything that could go wrong did. Nothing obvious, but… And my assignments kept changing every few months and each time I was put in the position where I could be the most help to you. Things were dropped in my lap so I could warn you in advance. Made a man very curious."

 

"Did you ever figure out who it was?" John asked.

 

"Yeah. The night of Gwen's and Rhys's deaths I got a transmission from the Valiant. The Valiant! I nearly wet my trousers. Coded, but sloppy. There were in a hurry. Told me where to find the bodies and what to do about it. They cut the link and fried the line, but I was able to get an i.d. on one of the callers. It was Mrs. Saxon." He laughed at their shocked looks. "Yeah, me too. I wiped every molecule in that hard drive by hand, let me tell you."

 

A few days after Andy's birthday celebration they got the first hint that something was very wrong. The Hub's computer had registered a massive energy buildup within the Rift. There was zero chance that the Valiant's sensors would not pick it up, but there was no sign of interest from that quarter. Instead, their contacts in the resistance reported that the Toclafane seemed to be looking for something. They were traveling at night in groups of three or four, without any UNIT backup; at least one reliable source had seen them go into the weevil tunnels.

 

Rumors were also flying about Martha Jones. She had found the gun and was coming back to Britain. She had been captured and executed by the Toclafane. She had been whisked away by Time Lords and would be returned to Earth when the time was right.

 

"At the rate it's going," Ianto quipped, "she'll be taken to Avalon by Morgan Le Fay to rest besides King Arthur until the country really needs them."

 

That night the Hub's proximity alarm was triggered. Ianto and John went to reconnoiter – CCTV hadn't worked in months – and found the ruins of the once-beautiful Plas crawling with Toclafane. While most of them floated near ground level, two or three kept aloft, scanning the area. Ianto tapped John on the shoulder and pointed at the highest one. It had its blades extended; one of them dangled uselessly from its socket.

 

The first thing Toshiko and Andy heard from their returning comrades was John's inventive rant about annoying pus bags that held grudges and Ianto's helpless laughter.

 

"They're getting closer, aren't they?" asked Andy quietly.

 

"Yes, they are." John put his arms around Toshiko and leaned his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry, love. I think I brought this one down on your heads."

 

"I don't think you can blame yourself. They're tracking the Rift, not you. "She kissed him gently. "We're going to have to do something about it. It's a massive buildup, and if we don't release the pressure it's going to blow up badly."

 

"Bad enough to take them with it?"

 

"Bad enough to take most of Cardiff with it."

 

"It might be worth it," Andy said. "But I don't understand why! The Toclafane are Saxon's pets. The armada he's building is designed for them. Humans are meant to be either slaves or cannon fodder. He doesn't care about the Rift, never has. So why are Toclafane so obsessed with it?"

 

"Maybe…" Ianto said hesitantly, "it doesn't have anything to do with Saxon. We are used to thinking about the Toclafane as a monolithic unit, but maybe they're not. This one that's been chasing you … seems to have a mind of its own. What if what this group wants is to keep… using the Rift to hopscotch from place to place and… play?"

 

"Jesus, Ianto." Andy swore. "You're going to give me nightmares."

 

"Actually, Andy, he might be right."

 

"Then we open up this thing and let it blow, John. Can you imagine space and time filled with Toclafane?"

 

"It's not that easy. What if opening the Rift interferes with whatever the Doctor is trying to do?"

 

"And what if what we do is necessary to change the future? We're blind here, John, because all we know is that in your future there are no Toclafane. We can't let them go through!"

 

"Timing," said Toshiko, in her dreamy geek voice. "Whatever we do, we have to time it to the second."

 

"Yeah," John grimaced. "But which second?"

 

"Right at the moment it happens. Whatever the Doctor is doing needs a lot of power, right? Rift energy is Vortex energy…"

 

"Which is partially psychic energy!" John picked her up and whirled her around. "Yes. The blow will reinforce whatever the Doctor does and get rid of the little pus bags at the same time."

 

"The Plas will be full of people," Ianto whispered.

 

"Yeah." John looked at each one in turn. "Do we do this?"

 

Andy seemed to speak for all of them. "Yes."

 

And so they waited, not venturing out of the Hub, spending time with each other. The last mission of Torchwood Three was a suicide mission and they all knew it and were content with it. John had never felt more at peace.

 

The day the countdown clock reached one hour to zero, while Andy and Toshiko made the last preparations in the Hub, Ianto and John went out to the Plas and stood openly, waiting. It didn't take long. The metallic whirr of fast-moving Toclafane could be heard approaching. Ianto turned to John and kissed him passionately.

 

"It's been a hell of a ride." He grinned. "Jack will have other teams, but never a better one. Or crazier, for that matter."

 

They drew swords and waited. Three metal spheres dropped down from the ever-present vapor cloud. As the Toclafane began their attack, they retreated into the old tourist office. The door into the Hub was wide open; they could hear Saxon's voice coming from the computer screens, something about "the child Martha Jones," but they didn't pay attention. The sound of metal on metal filled the corridor as they moved back slowly. They took hits – Ianto to the thigh, John to one shoulder -- but they kept the Toclafane from entering the Hub too soon.

 

Finally, as they heard the crowds in the streets begin to chant "Doctor, Doctor," they backed into the Hub itself. There was more space there, and the Toclafane took advantage. Andy was cut down as he manned the computer, but his last act was to activate the sequence that opened the Rift. John tried to stand between Tosh and Ianto and the Toclafane, but found himself pushed back towards the opening by his two lovers.

 

"What are you doing?" He shouted at them.

 

"You don't belong here!" Toshiko shouted back. "If you die here, now, the timelines go the hell again. You have to go back to the exact place and time you came from…Ianto!"

 

They watched as Ianto's leg finally gave way and he collapsed. The Toclafane descended on him. On his knees, he fought to keep them off the two of them.

 

"Go!" Toshiko pushed John again. "If you die, this is all for nothing!"

 

He pressed his lips to hers. "I love you, Toshiko Sato."

 

She gave him one final push and he fell through the Rift, his hand automatically recalibrating his vortex manipulator. He stepped through into a cold morning high above Bamburgh beach, where an elderly couple walked hand in hand, his free hand reaching to tuck an errant silver-white curl behind her ear; three boys romped in the freezing surf, stomping the wet sand and laughing to see their footprints disappear as the water seeped back in; a man walked half a dozen dogs, all of a different size and breed; and a girl barely out of her teens sat on a rock, pencil moving rapidly over the dazzling white page of a sketchpad.

 

John Hart sat down, his back against the massive sandstone walls of the castle, and watched the people below enjoy the simple pleasures of life, tears streaming down his face.


End file.
